


Snow

by belletylers



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: AU, F/M, Rumbelle - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-23
Updated: 2014-04-10
Packaged: 2017-12-24 09:45:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/938489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/belletylers/pseuds/belletylers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU: In which Belle’s father throws her out after discovering her infatuation for the Dark One, and she has nowhere to go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Townspeople

**Author's Note:**

> I watched Skin Deep last week, and the heartbreakingly beautiful way that Rumple asks Regina, "So she needs a . . . home?" inspired this lil' something. Not done yet. Not sure how long it will be.

Belle had never noticed how cold the winters were, before. Perhaps it was because, whilst the thick snows and icy rains pounded the stained glass and stony walls, she was safe inside her castle, the hearth glowing and a maid brushing every last of her chestnut curls as she watched in a looking glass, as her father had always insisted. 

On snowy days, she’d watch the village children from her window build men of snow and fight each other by throwing lumps of the stuff, but she had seldom been permitted to go out. Beloved as he was, her father was a little bit too preoccupied with status than he should have been in a village their size. 

And of course, the hair-brushing and the myriad of other feminine tasks set aside for her hadn’t been accepted without reluctance by Belle. She could brush her own hair, and whilst sewing was practical, she didn’t need to know how to embroider the pattern of a rose into a pillow. It was busy work, mostly, though she was always sure part of it was her father trying to create a ‘proper lady’ in the absence of her mother. And though she tried time and time again to convince him that it wasn’t necessary to compensate for such things, it never made a difference. She still never got to touch the snow.

Now, though, she’d sew a million hems and cook a million meals if it meant she could warm herself by the heat of a fire. She wondered what all those children had gained by playing in the snow, when it was all she could do to get herself away from its all-encompassing cold. She was freezing, starving and dirty. Her blue dress, which had been form-fitting a few weeks ago, was now loose around her torso. She had her cloak, thankfully, but the thin, loose fabric did little to shield her pale, white skin from the frosty air. 

For the past few days, she’d taken residence on the edge of a forest, cut open by a narrow dirt road that widened just a few yards away from where she was to reveal a bustling square full of villagers. It was a village that Belle did not know, but it was like many others she’d seen before. The square was always full in the mornings, and she was awoken at dawn by the call of the merchants, asking those who passed by to take a look at their foreign fabrics or their delicious fruits and cheeses.

Belle was afraid that if she entered the town properly, looking all dishevelled and damp, they’d mistake her for a beggar and dismiss her. Back home, a generous merchant might have given his bread of the day in exchange for little more than a smile (and, in turn, to be in good favour with the king), but this was not home. This was far and foreign and unfamiliar. Though she did not know how far exactly, she wagered a guess of very, because the skies here were blue all the way to the edges, instead of being laced with blood-red and purple, the colours of bruises and of war. 

She’d contemplated coming out of the forest and going into the square despite all that, though, even if it was for nothing more than for the rush of the crowds to warm her up. But instead she had stayed put, trying to decide what to do next. Where to go?

She decided, though, that she would not do that today. The smells of the soaps and spices called her, and she knew that ignoring that call was not in her best interests. Her stomach, emptier than it had ever been, groaned in protest with each step but she kept going until faced with the openness of the busy marketplace. 

The sun halfway across the sky, she placed her feet upon the cobblestones. 

No sooner did she enter the town than all the heads of the townspeople and merchants alike turn towards the road in shock. She wondered what she had done to offend, but quickly realised that they were all staring at the onslaught of armed men in all-black on horseback, guarding both ends and the sides of a small but elaborately decorated carriage. A carriage that Belle recognised. 

The crowds folded back on both sides, leaving an open space of cobblestone for the carriage to stop. The townspeople huddled, women clutching babes to their breasts, and began whispering speculatively in each other’s ears. Their whispers were silenced, however, when the door of the carriage opened and one slender leg slid out, covered to the knee by a leather pointed boot, the toe of which looked almost as lethal as the swords at the waists of the men. 

The door swung all the way open and a woman with ivory hair and a regal posture appeared, and silence filled the market. Belle had seen her before. This was the woman that she’d met on the road. This was the Queen, about whom Rumplestiltskin had spoken with such bitterness and hate. 

“My men and I have been travelling on the road for a week,” she started, pacing menacingly beside the crowd. “This town is a full day’s trip away from the next and we need a place to stay for the night. There is an inn, I assume?”

Belle’s ears pricked up at the mention of hospitality, but all the same she covered her head with her cloak, just in case the Queen would know who she was. 

“Of course, Your Majesty,” a short, round man stuttered, gesturing to the biggest building in the square. “There is always room.”

The Queen looked skeptically at the building, then back at the little man. “It shall suffice.” Belle saw him breathe a sigh of utter relief. She turned, her raven hair falling over her shoulder, and looked out to the people: the poor, the hungry, the workers, the mothers, the children. Then, she looked to one of the armored men to her right and gave a subtle nod. The man faced the crowd and shouted, “Kneel!” in a rough and accented voice. Around her, Belle felt the hushed movements of the people fall downward as they hurried to get on their knees before the Queen. They were down, in where Regina might call their “rightful places”, before Belle could think twice about moving. 

The guard approached her, and she froze, not even raising a hand to cover her face when a particularly icy wind whipped past. The man leaned in close, the pointed tip of his helmet, which was covering his nose, almost grazing her skin. She angled her chin upward slightly, in defiance. 

The man spoke again, this time, quietly and, strangely, much more terrifyingly: “Kneel for your queen.”

“Wait,” Regina said, sweeping in with a gesture to stop her guard. With visible reluctance, he stepped back. “I know you.”

Belle said nothing, and it took a moment before Regina could place her. 

“Yes, you’re the girl I met on the road; the one in love with her master.” The older woman’s tone was patronising and sickly, and it made Belle feel restless and angry. 

“How’d it go, dear? The advice I gave you.”

Again, Belle said nothing. 

The Queen mock-pouted. “Not so well? Hmm, well, perhaps your approach was wrong,” she supplied, mostly just entertaining herself. 

Belle shrugged off the hood of her cloak and her curls blew loose in the breeze. “My approach was just fine. This was your fault. You knew how he would react. It was a ploy for your own self-gain, to weaken him.”

“And why would I want that?” She was trying to stay calm, but there was tension in the way that she spoke.

“Because you’re scared. Because you know his heart is purer than yours.”

Despite everything, she still defended him in the face of adversity, and the people still listened intently. 

“It was destined to fail, dear. After all, you’re in love with the Dark One.”

The crowd let out a gasp. Apparently he was the one person they feared above Regina, though right now, she didn’t seem to mind. 

Belle clenched her hands into fists. “Yes. Yes I am.”

“But?” she pushed. “No, wait. Let me guess: he couldn’t choose you over his power, threw you in a dungeon, then told you he didn’t want you so you ran home to daddy, who was so ashamed that his only daughter had fallen for a psychopath and had ruined any chance of her being betrothed again after her fiancé went missing that he tossed you out on the streets with nowhere to go.”

The brunette could not fight the quiver in her lip. “How . . . how did you know that?”

Regina just smiled, her cherry-red lips parting slightly to reveal perfect white teeth. “You should move on, dear. I know he has.”

With that, the Queen moved off, leaving Belle with her heart in her throat. The people rose from their positions, and she could hear fragments of whispers about her, being “the Dark One’s wench” and whatnot. She knew pretty quickly she would find little hospitality here. 

She watched the way people watched the Queen as she passed. Their faces were stricken with terror, even though she had not done anything particularly terrifying. Belle wondered what would happen if Rumplestiltskin were here in the Queen’s place. Whether the masses would cower at tremble at his ghastly face. Whether they dreaded his visits. Whether they’d be scared of her, for ‘loving the monster’. 

She wanted to expose him, in a way. Let the world know that the things they saw weren’t all that lay beneath the surface. But the world would never believe her, when all they’d ever seen from him was pain and destruction. 

But then, sometimes, she could not see how the world could be so blind, and simultaneously, how he did such a good job of fooling them all when he hadn’t been able to fool her. At least, not permanently. 

There had been times, at the Dark Castle, when his eyes had lingered for just that extra moment, trying to read her. Trying to see what was thinking. And those eyes that could be so eerie and cold somehow became warm and inviting. And when she’d kissed him, the snake-like flesh of the Dark One had peeled away, and she’d seen a man’s skin grace his face for the first time. He’d even been handsome. For a moment.

And God, possibly worst of all, she’d been so damn close. If she’d used different words, or better yet, used her mouth for kissing him like she had planned, then he’d never have shouted. He’d never have made her leave. And when asking for his help, she would not have been left with nothing after her father tossed her out for so “carelessly” becoming “involved with her employer”. Her father was blind to any good that lay in Rumplestiltskin, or anyone else, for that matter. He had to be, or else he wouldn’t have chosen someone like Gaston for her to marry. 

She didn’t want to go back to her father. 

Rumplestiltskin claimed he didn’t want her. 

She had nowhere to go.

...

It snowed that night. 

Belle was awoken by the sound of horse hooves on dirt. Her night in the cold, under the shelter of a tree, had not been a comfortable one. A cough rattled through her, and she grimaced sleepily towards the carriage, before slipping into unconsciousness, simply triggered by fatigue. Blue-lipped and white-skinned, she slept into the morning.


	2. Heal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the break. Been super busy. About to go overseas so future chapters may be scarce for a little while. I'll try and write another before I go. Thanks for all your support/kudos!

_Home almost looked foreign now, without the blood-red tinge that had clung to the horizon for so many years. The walls, having been crumbled last time she saw them, were freshly rebuilt. She could see the colour of cleaner, newer bricks contrasting against the dark and dirty old ones that survived the invasion. It seemed the locals had done their best to wash the blood off of them, but to no avail. In the centre of the cobblestone courtyard that was usually used for public hearings and meetings there now stood a statue depicting a soldier at battle. He was young-looking, though Belle knew many of the soldiers had been even younger than he. She had heard of child warriors in the towns beyond. But there had been older fighters, too. Then again, stone was ageless – it needn’t have lines etched upon its face._

_Years only served to crack and crumble it, but rain, snow or sleet couldn’t fight its straight-backed posture and the sword held high in the boy’s hand. Belle thought it a rather distasteful form of immortalisation, really. The blade was pointed to the sky, at an invisible enemy. His feet were parted and his free hand held a shield that had been cast downward, away from his body in an act of bravery and sacrifice. Or something along those lines. At the base of the statue were wreaths and wreaths of flowers for the fallen. Belle curtsied at the young boy out of respect, and continued walking. T_

_he weathered wood of the tall doors of her home had never looked more welcoming than in the moment Belle burst through them, crying out for her father. At first, her cry was met with only silence, and she stared blankly at the round, open room that she had entered into, with two spiral staircases facing each other at the sides. On the opposite wall were two hexagonal windows that followed the passage of the sun. It was dusk now – the western window lit with dull gold, and the eastern encased in midnight blue. She opened her mouth to call out again, but she was met by the distant sound of her father’s voice._

_..._

There had been a kind of frozen numbness inside Belle that left her haunted with fatigue and stiffness. It was the kind of cold that seeped through her creamy skin – skin that shared its hue with the snow, the blood too busy trying to keep her heart beating to bring the familiar rosy flush to her cheeks. The kind that coursed through her veins and made frozen tears fall from her eyes.

Fire helped her, of course, but that was nothing when there was hardly a piece of dry wood to be found. Her cloak, through thick and long, did little for warmth, and she longed for the duck-down blankets of her childhood. To distract herself from just how very cold she was, she simple contented herself with trying not to think about things. Things like the warmth of her home, especially in the summer – it made her homesick – her father, even Rumplestiltskin.

There was an ache deep in her bones, and she could no longer be sure if she was just that cold, or if this was what being heartbroken felt like.

...

She would have moved sooner from this town, followed the road until the next place, which with any luck would be a little less frozen than this one. But Regina had said herself that the journey to the next nearest town was long, and that was by carriage. By foot it would take even longer, and the roads were not safe at night. There were bandits, vandals, and who knows what else. Of course, she hadn’t anything for them to take, but a value could be found in her in other ways.

And even if she did make it to the next town, what then? Where to go? She had always wanted to see the world, but not like this. Not wandering aimlessly from place to place, searching for some kind of existence. The people in that town were too frightened of peril by the hands of Rumplestiltskin or the Queen that someone like her – involved in some way with both of them – would be exiled.

The snow offered the solace that people did not.

...

Nightfall came again, soon enough, and the snow, for now, had subsided. In the distance, Belle could see a bonfire in the town square, no doubt a celebration by the people of the Queen’s departure. She decided, after endless minutes of contemplation, that she would join them. She too, after all, was happy that Regina was no longer around. With her now dry hood hiding her face, she walked with as much confidence as she could muster into the centre of the excitement. The orange flames climbed high into the black starless sky, with two men, both unbelievably large in stature, keeping it burning with logs from their wheelbarrow. For a minute or two, Belle ignored her surroundings and held her hands out to the flames, letting the feeling return to her fingers, her hands, her arms, her face.

She heard the buzz of conversation and shouting and singing – loud, drunken singing – and she could hear a band. A piper and a man with a drum and another with a bugle had thrown together a strange mix of melodies and it was enough to dance to, if the enthusiasm of the people was anything to go by. Though merry the celebration was, it only made her feel more isolated, if that were possible. It made her miss the festivities of Avonlea, and of her youth. It made her miss company, something of which she had been starved of recently. Something tightened in her throat, and it made her cough and wheeze. She didn’t let herself worry about it; worrying would do nothing. She would be fine.

As if to answer a call, a hand landed upon her shoulder. A woman, tiny – tinier than she was – was standing behind her wearing a black robe. She had a face with lines etched carefully into it and gray hair and a rough voice that was thickly accented when she spoke.

“You are the girl who has been sleeping in the forest,” the woman said, and Belle nodded, uncertain if it was a question or not. She had not known that people had been aware of her presence further to the meeting with Regina.

“M-My name’s Belle,” she replied, holding out her hand. The woman took it, though paid less attention to the handshake and more to Belle’s face. Belle coughed again, harshly. The woman tutted.

“You cannot sleep outside again tonight – you will sleep in my empty room. Come – my house is the one at the end of that road.” She pointed. “We must do something about that cough – I am sure I have something for you.”

“You’re a healer?”

“Of sorts.”

They began walking, the woman two steps in front of Belle at every pace. Belle quickened her steps to catch up. “Sorry, I didn’t catch your name.” The woman stopped walking. “Altheda. Altheda is my name. Now, come. It is getting late.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi friends! I'm really sorry I abandoned this. I know it's been, like, forever. But I promise I am going to finish this story. Just a few more chapters, probably. Anyway, enjoy!

_“Belle! Oh, my girl! My Belle!” The exclamations of her father boomed and echoed through the wide room. He appeared at the top of one of the staircases, descending as quickly as he could. She couldn’t help but chuckle at his clumsy gait, but all the same her eyes began to well up at the sight of him. These many weeks, she’d been so busy not thinking about him that she’d almost forgotten how painful it had been to miss him. Oh, and it_ had _been painful. Painful enough for her tears to soak the silken pillow given to her by Rumplestiltskin._

_But in that moment, there was only joy in her heart, and the sight of her father, so ecstatic, so uncharacteristically happy, had her running to him like she had when she was a little girl, nearly tripping over her skirt. She embraced him fiercely, and there was a warmth about him, a softness. As he held her, she felt tiny in his arms._

_An eternity later, he pulled a tiny bell from his coat pocket and rang it loudly. Two servants appeared, and looked startled but pleased at the sight of Belle._

_“Get my daughter some clean clothes,” he ordered. “And bring some food for her to the dining room.” He turned his attention back to her, bringing a calloused finger to her chin. “I’ll wait for you there, Belle. I want to hear everything.” She just nodded, and hesitantly left her father’s arms for those of one of his faithful servants. There was an eeriness to his commands that worried her, a new authority he seemed to have over her. The last time she had seen him had been the last time purely because she had been defiant. She thought, perhaps, this time, he would not let her. The gates of Avonlea might not see her pass for a long while yet. Or perhaps they would see her very, very soon._

+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+

Belle woke with her forehead damp from sweat, hands grabbing frantically at the sheets. It took her a few, long seconds to calm herself down, to soothe her heaving chest and racing mind. It took another few to remember just where she was: Altheda – the healer – had brought her to her home the night before. She’d barely gotten a cup of tea down before she’d given up on constructing coherent sentences and the elderly woman had politely shown her the guest bedroom.

It was a quaint cottage, with rose-coloured curtains and matching sheets, crisp and clean. It was homely, especially for a woman on her own. She wondered if Altheda had had children.

With daylight in the window, lighting up the room, she could get a good look at it, and it was not dissimilar to her childhood bedroom. It made her ache for home. Or even _a_ home. Consistency. Reliability. Rumplestiltskin had had her spend many nights studying the stony walls of a dungeon, but at least it was hers. She could not say the same about the long nights in the forest. She could not even say that about her father, and Avonlea, and she never, _ever_ thought it would come to that.

She missed having direction. She missed having any sense of guidance. She wanted to tell herself what she had always told herself: _do the brave thing._ But what was the brave thing? Not knowing was, perhaps, the scariest part.

The sound of knuckles rapping on wood drew her from her thoughts.

“Come in,” she answered hoarsely, not having spoken since before she went to bed last night. It was Altheda, who expertly carried a tray of breakfast food in one hand while pushing open the door with the other. In the light, Belle could see properly the woman’s age, the deep lines etched in her face.  Most notably, crow’s feet. And lines just below the apples of her plump cheeks. In her long life, Belle knew that Altheda had smiled a lot.

“I brought you some breakfast. You best be getting your strength up, if you want to get rid of that cough,” Altheda advised, taking a seat on the end of Belle’s bed. As if on cue, the cough rattled through Belle again, and she desperately tried to cover her mouth. “Come out to the kitchen when you are done eating. I want to ask you some questions.”

The ambiguity of the statement left Belle curious, but not concerned. For some reason – maybe it had been the sheer fatigue – she trusted Altheda. And it served her well to look for the best in people. She had looked for the best in Rumplestiltskin, and had discovered her destiny, written on the face of the most fear-inspiring men in all the realms. And she firmly believed that that story was not yet over.

+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+

“Tell me, then, Belle,” Altheda prompted as Belle took a seat at her old dining table, the chair creaking even beneath her petite form. She handed the young girl a cup of tea. “How did you end up here? That accent of yours . . . you are from Avonlea, aren’t you?”

Belle nodded.

“So far from home.”

“My father . . . he shut me out.”

“Shut you _out_?” The older woman sounded appalled. Belle couldn’t blame her.

“Told me he didn’t want to see me, that he was ashamed . . . so I left. I walked and walked. Hitched a few rides with some travellers.”

“How long have you been on the road?”

“A few weeks,” she answered. “But it feels longer. Maybe it’s because I don’t really know where I’m going. There’s nowhere for me to go. I’ve no other family – my mother died when I was a baby.”

“And your father tossed you out like trash. You poor, poor dear.” At that, Belle sat up a little straighter. She appreciated the pity, but she refused to be weak. “What was it that you did to warrant such an action?” Altheda asked, concerned.

Belle smiled, staring into her tea. “I fell in love. I didn’t mean to, but I did.”

“Nobody ever means to fall in love,” Altheda said, reaching over and touching the girl’s hand. “You must go to him, this man, this . . .” she paused, waiting for Belle to say his name. She was silent, hesitant. “Tell me, child, what is his name?”

“Rumplestiltskin.”

The light in Altheda’s eyes faded almost instantaneously. Her smile disappeared, replaced by a thin, straight line. Belle gripped the arms of her chair nervously. This woman was frail, but her icy glare could cast fear into any heart. She rose from her chair. “The Dark One?” she daren’t even say his name.

“He’s not . . . I . . .” Belle didn’t know what to say. She knew the things he had done, but she saw the good in him. She also knew that the rest of the world might have a little more trouble than she did. “Rumplestiltskin’s heart is true, I _swear_ to you, Altheda.”

“I think you should leave this place,” Altheda replied sternly. “Not just my house, but this town. That name will not serve you well here. That man, that _creature_ has wrought nothing but havoc.”

“Leave? But I – I’ve done nothing wrong!” Belle protested, hurt by the older woman’s sudden turn against her.

“Your mind is twisted. You need help. But you shall not receive it from me,” Altheda said, gesturing to the cottage door. “I’m sorry. I truly am.”

Shakily, Belle rose from her seat and walked toward the door. Before she stepped over the threshold, she faced Altheda one more time. “You’ll see. One day, everyone will see.” She paused, then spoke again: “Thank you for your hospitality.”

Another casting out, another door closed. Belle was beginning to feel hopeless.

Snow began to fall again, and she was right back where she started.


End file.
